Scars Series-Panther's Lioness
by writershreyac
Summary: Two people. 100 percent compatible. But they need to look beyond the scars, mental and physical, look beyond the age differences. Before they become one. Those moments in the dead of the night.[Continued as a part SCARS, This teaser fic is complete]. Please read SCARS fic for further updates.
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer_**: I own nothing, but my thoughts of AU and OC, the rest all belong to J K Rowling. My mind lives in the Harry Potter fanfiction world though my body is still thankfully anchored in the monotonous reality of existence. My themes, plot line and story line may therefore get indirectly influenced by many of the brilliant fanfiction writers in this site. And I humbly bow to such creative genius who give me much needed literary pleasures to see through the toils of mundane life. Lastly, I don't have a beta, so please be merciful. Reviews would encourage this introvert writer to peep out of her literary closet.

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**Scars **

The war was over. And it had killed Ron. It had killed her parents. It had killed half the magical population of Britain. And with it came the ostentatious Magical Marriage Law. Faulty, manipulative and another tool to create a new rift in the slowly mending magical society. And Hermione Granger was no longer a child. She was the first name brought up. She had to get married. And her power to choose was not herself anymore. The clauses of the law saw to it.

She was a Muggleborn. Thus, she had to marry a half-blood or a pureblood wizard. Or witness her wand to be broken, her identity to be erased, escorted by two Aurors through Diagon alley, and once those bricks of that famous wall retreat into their original places- this special world, her second home, no her only home, will be lost forever. The ministry had come up with some algorithm, and she knew who her suitor was before the ministry had that declared out loud. Who else could match her aptitude, her hunger for knowledge, her acumen for logical analysis and her capacity to invent marvelous spells? He was only second to her. Draco Lucius Malfoy.

Instead of a closed room, they had decided to discuss her fate in front of the public. In a courtroom like a huge hall. Set her as an example. And she had seen the platinum blonde head from the entrance itself. It was the first case in a row of several. And she was one of the victorious golden trio. Her fate was meant to be advertised. But the events of the day did not turn as she had dreaded.

The ministry algorithm and arithmancy system had calculated an ideal absolute compatibility result. 100%.

As she stood there in the middle of his bedroom, shaking like a leaf, she had blinked away her tears, furiously. She had fought against monsters, tackled bigot villians, rode dragons, was claimed to be the Brightest Witch of the Age. But this was unknown territory. This was not a couple of stolen kisses she had with Victor, not that adrenaline pumped snogging before war with Ron. This was consensually giving away her virginity. This was intentionally sealing her fate with a man. Yes, a man.

She never saw him as a boy. He was always a man. A grown-up. Vicious, biting, snarling, berating, man, strict, demanding. And she knew how fiercely he was capable of loving. She could not afford to close her eyes. Her honey-dipped brown eyes were locked into those black, penetrating, soul searching, powerful, fierce, wild, turbulent, obsidian ones.

They both were dressed in only tunics. The last farce, therefore, those officials had enacted an ancient bind spell, a soul bound. That cloth on him, made him look taller, paler, skinner and deadly cold. On her, she thought, unattractive and hideous. He would find her look like a doe trapped in a huge mess net, scared, jittery, petrified and innocent.

Somewhere a clock ticked and a bell rang eleven times. She took a shaky breath. It was now or never. And never was equal to her losing everything. Virginity was a small price to pay to secure a lifetime in a world, that was all left to her. With trembling hands, she removed the only remaining barrier. And closed her eyes. She could have covered herself but that would be in vain. Closing her eyes might help her imagine things less terrifying. But she had forgotten, if one shuts one of the senses the other four heighten up.

She could hear the intake of his sharp breath. Then a rustle of cloth. Soft pads of feet slowly moving over. And warm air brushing against those locks which toss and turn over her temple. In his deep baritone voice, he had said, "Look at me."

She had gasped. It was not an order. It was not a rebuke. It was a plea. Her eyes flew open. He was much taller than her. His hair was not greasy instead it had a silk sheen. She tried not to look at his eyes, instead all by their own will, they traveled over his pale, body. He was a study of anatomy. And the ultimate testament of war.

Slowly he had turned on his feet. She was shocked. If his front was like a crude map etched on the sand. His back was tale of the remains of a once magnificent civilization. When he was back to facing her, she thought it was her turn to twirl for him. But a single bony finger, marked with nips and cuts and potion burns, had halted her. It had touched her. Right over the nick on her neck, a gift from Bellatrix. His eyes had grown soft. He was a contradiction. His finger had ghosted over her skin. And then it had traveled down, making its solo journey over her breast bone. Lighting unknown flames, as footprints on her skin. Then it had stopped. Over that ridged long scar, that made her look distorted. He was now a thirsty traveler. His finger had drowned itself in the elixir called wanderlust. It scaled over those ridges, valleys, moving slower than a sloth. Memorizing its path, committing to memory the sights it has the fortune to lay eyes on. She was burning. And a single digit had set her on this unknown fire.

The journey of his finger had come to a stop at the edge of her hip. She had felt its tremors. Then two fingers had joined it. Like if one friend was incapable of standing after an exhausting journey by foot, two of his other friends took it upon themselves to support him.

All this while he had opened his mind to her. And Like a black and white cinema, she had seen his story told through emotions. And they called him, and an unfeeling bastard. He was starving. He was human. But they have used him as a tool.

She could hardly carry on. These images were torching her soul. His fingers were telling her, what all he was capable of. She had struggled with the need to say something.

In a shaky voice, she had murmured, "What do you want from me?"

His eyes had glowed, and she had noticed they were not black, instead they were the darkest shades of brown.

In this dark dungeon bedroom, the candles had flickered and had cast grotesque shadows of two people. The fire in the hearth was the only source of warmth.

And now, his eyes were warmer, softer, compassionate, pleading, begging and graveling at her feet. He had taken in a deep breath. It had traveled down his throat, filled the confines of his lungs. She had noticed that. And she had felt the exhaled warm, sweet, pine and sandalwood flavored gush of wind kiss her locks and made them dance again over her temple.

In his shaky voice, he murmured back, "Can you love me, Mrs Hermione Snape?"

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A/N: Thoughts please! this was quite a roller-coaster! phew!


	2. Chapter 2

**_Disclaimer_**: _The regular disclaimer still stays in place, I owe nothing but the AU and OC. The rest belongs to JKR. This one is an interrelated fic. The readers are requested to read the other associated fics posted under the SCARS series. There are currently two uploaded series. A couple of more will be added.  
My mind lives in the Harry Potter fanfiction world though my body is still thankfully anchored in the monotonous reality of existence. My themes, plotline, and storyline may, therefore, get indirectly influenced by many of the brilliant fanfiction writers on this site. And I humbly bow to such creative genius who give me much needed literary pleasures to see through the toils of mundane life. Lastly, I don't have a beta, so please be merciful. Reviews would encourage this introvert writer to peep out of her literary closet._

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Scars 2

The requisition form had been staring at him for some time. And those officials were slowly tightening the noose around his neck. He was exonerated for his crimes. He was free, like that was what he wanted from them. He wanted to flee this god damned place. Seclude himself in the wilderness if he could help it. And he knew. He wasn't a consummated spy just by the drop of a hat. Right there, behind their beady eyes, he could see the trapdoor.

They told him in quiet, crisp and plain language. He should consider signing up the form. Should give himself up for marriage. There has been a law passed by the Minister, all single men, and women, between the age of 15-45 were required to sign up the form. They have come up with some system based on algorithm and arithmancy, which is going to decide the compatibility ratio. Some loser's game is it!

And if he is to deny it…well they will not put him in Azkaban. They will break his wand instead. And he will have high restrictions on the usage of magic. Heavy enough to pass him for a squib.

So, there he is. Standing beside his godson. Those ministry high collars are to decide the fate of the brain of the golden trio first, and then perhaps Draco's or his. He does not see Potter. There was a story that Wonder Boy has taken off. Vanished in thin air. This is a circus. Three prominent figures coming out from the war, alive. Granger he understands. Heroine. Brightest Witch of the Age. With her taking the first blow of this pathetic law, they will make an example. And she is a muggle-born. It is clear enough; a war cannot wipe off the rust of outdated doctrines. And they are tackling that with recognizing, inbreeding as a nuisance practice. Mix them and play pick and choose.

Then in a high pitch voice and small diminutive plump woman has gushed about the ministry algorithm and arithmancy system calculating an ideal absolute compatibility result. 100%. Draco has stiffened beside him. The boy is here to set yet another kind of example. A standing pique for the later generations- how the fallen from grace are treated like dust below the feet of the ministry.

And he is here because they have simply decided to switch those manacles from Azkaban and place marriage binding spells on him. From one unwanted cage to another undesiring domestic arrest.

Things have jolted him and suck his breath numerous times. Severus Snape and Hermione Granger 100% compatible. Draco has heaved a sigh of relief and he does see a ghost of a smile over his cracked lips. He remembers that Unbreakable Vow. He stands up, walks up to the dais, and in swift penmanship signs his name and fate to the oblivion. The girl is in automation. She has walked up, stood beside him, her fingers plucked the quill he has offered, and in small soft fingers signed her name, right beside his, sealing herself to his fate.

The flash of bulbs, the drumrolls, and those milling faces do not get to see how both of them are shivering below their iron resolve. They have been ushered into a ceremonial room, separately stripped of their dignity, wrapped in glittering tunics. Then a ministry has painfully kept smiling at them while he officiates the archaic binding spell. Snape knows that spell. It is something close to dark arts. And he has hastily, broken into Hermione's mind and has tried to talk some sense.

He recalls how the girl would accept commands without questioning them. He just remembered to make his words sound just and appropriate enough. "When you say the spell, mean it with your heart, or else this spell will kill you. It will be a slow agonizing death."

He is satisfied to see the dawn of terror in her eyes. And the cryptic appeal to her bravery has worked its magic as well. In those short moments, he has seen myriad changes in the girl. Yes girl, going to be his young bride. And his soul has whispered a vow of its own in his ears, "she will be my road to penance."

There are documents to sign, assets to determine. Again, they are shuttled into the Gringotts. The goblins do a rather quick job, creating a joint account, sealing bonds and making their financial valuation look like that of a newly married couple. In all this while, he has done the most daring thing. He has held Hermione's hand, in his larger ones. Softly squeezing it, from time to time. Trying his best to make her feel, less alone and more strong. And she does squeeze it back once. When he has felt inadequate, while the goblin has read aloud his meager assets.

They are dropped in front of the Hogwarts gates, and the decree is read aloud once again. To live under the new regime of the newly appointed Ministry of Magic, they have to consummate this marriage by midnight.

Hogwarts, because he is still the potion master. The headmistress Minerva McGonagall has seen to that. But she is still recovering from her injuring at St. Mungo's. And there truly is only Hagrid and Argus Filch and Mrs. Norris to greet the first newlywed.

And now, here they are. In his bedroom facing each other. This is ethereal. Never has a woman been in his bedroom. He has been to brothels. To keep up appearances. But he has loved once in his lifetime. And kissed once in his life. Neither did _she_ loved him back with the same ardor, nor could he recall that first and last kiss of his life.

Here standing in front of him is an angel. A young bride with chestnut flames of hair. A picture painted in dichotomy. And for the first time, he does not wish to demean her, mock her and keep quiet at the injustice done to her. He watches her battle with her wits. He watches her struggle with the surging emotions. And with each passing moment, he feels a sense of pride. Just like she had solved his puzzle in her first year, stolen from under his nose, made poly juice potion, had been the first to decipher that Lupin was the werewolf- her previous victories had made him proud in secret. She is standing taller and firmer. And he would want to protect this beacon of light and kindled hope, that that stepped inside his dark hell and blasted its melancholy with its exuberance.

The clock in his office ticks and the Hogwarts bell gongs eleven times.

He is yet to be surprised. When she stands there, her hand relishing the hold of the tunic and letting it fall softly beside her. She is shining like a bright star. He is blinded by her radiance. And it shatters him from within when he sees her eyes closed. He has been hanging on their radiating confidence and gathering his courage bit by it, throughout this testing day. He is once again drowning in the tempest sea of panic. He needs to see her eyes. In a flash, realizing her insecurities, he has removed that glittering piece of cloth. Softly walking up to her and he appeals to her beating heart. "Look at me".

And she does. Purifying his blackened existence. He wants more. He wants and be wanted in turn. He has to show her; he is abomination redefined. Turning on his spot, he has revealed to her, the sad history of his existence. She has looked at him instead with reverence. But she is naïve. When she tries to make the mistake of displaying her skin to him, he has halted her. He never wishes to gaze at her skin. He wants to see what is below it.

Tentatively he has touched her neck. A spear of anger has threatened to tire his mind. But he decides he won't hide anymore. He has invited her to watch his life through his small collection of emotions. And he has let his fingermark her. Remind her, that nick on her neck, made her pulse throb. And when he is staring at it, he could see how different that tiny jump on the raised skin looked. He has trailed his hand in the valley of her chest. There right below her small ribcage, right under her sternum, is beating the heart of a lioness, beside whom, he is honored to stand for the rest of his lifetime. And if she would permit it, he would make his heart stop, the moment her hearts decide to end this rhythmic dance of blood. He has not seen that scar grading her beauty, until, his finger has touched its raised surface. That he knew was Dolohov's handiwork. And the filth was dead. And she is standing in front of him.

Snape was the one to remove that signature dark spell of Dolohov, that night, and had sealed her anew. He had in the processed bathed in her blood. But thankfully she was unconscious the whole time. It had taken him months to realize that girl in his dreams, who died time and again, was still alive, attending his classes.

So now, he decides to worship it. Make her feel how fiercely beautiful it made her look. He has to see all those battles she has fought once again. Watch her like a captivated audience. And this journey through this remarkable past has exhausted him. He is too late to correct himself. He has allowed two of his other fingers to mark her hip.

And yet again, this angel in front of him has surrendered her choice to him. Rocking him till the tip of his entity. In a shaky voice, she murmurs, "What do you want from me?"

In this dark dungeon bedroom, the candles flicker and cast grotesque shadows of two people. The fire in the hearth is the only source of warmth.

Her eyes are burning with pure divinity. And he wants to wish for things for the first time. Many things are crowding his mind. He has to ask one of those thousands of questions multiplying themselves…He has to decide. He inhales and then slowly exhales. And asks the very first thing, "Can you love me, Mrs. Hermione Snape?"

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A/N: Let loose out in the wild...share your thoughts, please. I tried to play around the bushes here. And Yes, this an underage marriage fic. Requesting readers to be tolerated and patient. Imagine a world, where suppose 100 people were living and due to a mini size war, 60 people died, how would you regain the balance. Magical Britain was not overpopulated.  
_This one is an interrelated fic. The readers are requested to read the other associated fics posted under the SCARS series. There are currently two uploaded series. A couple of more will be added. to get the whole picture of what is happening: please read "In the arms of Her Snake Slayer" as well._


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer**_: _The regular disclaimer still stays in place, I owe nothing but the AU and OC. The rest belongs to JKR. __This one is an interrelated fic. The readers are requested to read the other associated fics posted under the SCARS series. There are currently two uploaded series. A couple of more will be added.__  
__My mind lives in the Harry Potter fanfiction world though my body is still thankfully anchored in the monotonous reality of existence. My themes, plotline, and storyline may, therefore, get indirectly influenced by many of the brilliant fanfiction writers on this site. And I humbly bow to such creative genius who give me much needed literary pleasures to see through the toils of mundane life. Lastly, I don't have a beta, so please be merciful. Reviews would encourage this introvert writer to peep out of her literary closet._

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**Panther's Lioness-3**

_In his shaky voice, he murmurs back, "Can you love me?"_

She can no longer recognize the reality from the illusion. The past is getting shattered in a space of a few hours. Those fingers that rest on her hip are honest. The breath tickling her crown is serene and sincere. And the sculpture standing a breath away is alive. And then the other finger of the other hand. Long, bony, sure and shy. It dances over her free hand. Tiptoeing over her fingers. Turning white into creamy pink. Like winter must truly leave forever. And the promise of spring whistles in the warm air. It ghosts over her knuckles. And then travels up. Further. A lone monk, hermit, walking on a lone path through the heart of a cold desert. It creeps up her throbbing vein. Coming at the juncture, where her palm ends and her wrist begins…

Then it stops. Right over her pulse. Feeling it. Like a person feels emotions. Feeling it like a prayer whispered in the darkest of the hour. Feeling it like the first shower of monsoon in the tropics. Deciding that it has rested enough, it starts its ascent. Over new ridges. The brand she has received for being a witch but of another kind. But this single tip of this finger, with its barely-there, pressure is not reminding her of her exclusive torture. It is instead, defining her. Tracing her entity like a letter of praise. She shudders once again. Her eyes keep looking into his. His eyelids don't flutter like that of butterflies. And even if they have fluttered once or twice, she can hardly catch those movements. His lips move. And his words wash over her. Like the rays of the sun right after it rises. "Scars define us."

She has to know now. Desperately. Urgently. Whether it is a fallen angel standing in front of her. Whether it is a ghost. Whether it is one of those fragments of dreams she has been having since the moment she has seen him bleed and nearly die. She snatches her hands away from his touch. His eyes burn once but withdraw their heat, the moment she places her palms flat on his chest. Skin to skin. There right under her small palm. His heartbeats. A rhythm as ancient as life itself.

It dawns in her mind. His magical prowess is exemplary. His mental strength unsurpassed. But does the world realize how precious his heart is? She can see its ebb and flow through the swaying flames behind his eyes. The keyholes to his soul. She can no longer deny that she never truly hated him. She can no longer deny that her heart flutters at his presence. She can no longer call her desire to garner his praise, his attention as a school girl's need to excel in the eyes of her teacher.

And her eyes well up. For his pain, his desolation, his plea, his desperation, and his request to feel like a human again is real. And she cannot deny him. she heaves and shudders. Leaving Ron behind. Leaving innocence behind. It is a hefty task. And leans forward. Resting her head on his chest. The sparse hair, mixed with the tang of sweat and musk brush against her nose. She cries in earnest. For him. for her.

Two strong and stable arms come up from behind and engulf her in a strong embrace. One palm rest on the back of her neck. The other rests over the small of her back. His chin rests over her head. Their touch radiates newer promises. _I will hold you just like this for the rest of our lives, I will guard you as I must, I will stand by you through storm, and rain, and behind you in your hour of victory…only if you would let me._

Comfort. Is he giving her comfort? Hasn't he been the Prometheus of the Magical world? Tied to the rock of an oath made to a dead woman, has that stale reminder of love in the shape of a scavenger feed on him, then leave him to regenerate himself again. Every day he would rise from the dead, and every night his essence would become the Oath's fodder. Yes Prometheus, the supreme trickster, the master craftsman. And this life force, with magic vibrating within its sinews, this sculpture of a survivor is letting her lean on and gather her strength.

Or like the Atlas, who held the magical world on his back, sacrificing his aspirations, his chance to live. And he had soaked in hated. Torture of mind soul and body. Still, he went on and on. Back to gravel at the feet of a monster. Become the toy of utter madness. And still, come back to teach and train students. The dichotomy is not lost to her. She recalls how those long black strands of hair help him in drawing the curtains over his emotions at times. He is human after all. But not now. Now they are resting on the sides of his bare face. Open and exposed for her eyes to read his story. And help him write a new one. He has handed over that proverbial quill to her.

She cries on. For what the world has become. For lives lost…

"And years that we need to live from this point…"

His voice above her head echoes. He has never left her mind. Startled she looks up. A smile ghosts over his thin lips. He is not a handsome man by general standards. But she reckons it is his imperfection that makes him unique. And here is this man, who has led a hopeless life. Trying to give her hope. This is his strength. This is the newfound energy that he has gathered. And she will not trample over that. She gives him a tentative smile. Tears glistening over her cheek. And then untangles her from his embrace.

She takes shy steps backward. Her eyes never leave his. Her teeth biting hard on her lips. When the bed touches the back of her knees, she lowers herself on it. Then stretches a hand up towards him. Palm outstretched.

A mute gesture of a warm welcome.

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A/N: Your thoughts matter to this quiet writer. Leave a handful of words behind, will you?


	4. Chapter 4

**_Disclaimer_**: _The regular disclaimer still stays in place, I owe nothing but the AU and OC. The rest belongs to JKR. This one is an interrelated fic. The readers are requested to read the other associated fics posted under the SCARS series. There are currently two uploaded series. A couple of more will be added.__  
__My mind lives in the Harry Potter fanfiction world though my body is still thankfully anchored in the monotonous reality of existence. My themes, plotline, and storyline may, therefore, get indirectly influenced by many of the brilliant fanfiction writers on this site. And I humbly bow to such creative genius who give me much needed literary pleasures to see through the toils of mundane life. Lastly, I don't have a beta, so please be merciful. Reviews would encourage this introvert writer to peep out of her literary closet._

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**Panther's Lioness- 4**

He had watched her sleep, in rapt wonder. A wave of his hand had added some more logs to the dying fire. She had unconsciously inched closer to his side. He never thought he would get to tire her. He had started feeling a couple of strands of her bushy hair, rolling them in between his index finger and thumb. She had her face turned sideways. The fire lit up her pale face. He had seen her blush in anger, blush in embarrassment through all those years, she had been his student. But tonight, he had made her blush at his expense. Not through rebuke or mockery, but through pure adoration and unhindered worship.

He never had the chance or the opportunity to show someone how, even, he could love and adore. Like a petal, he had held her. Like a knight he had guarded her, and guided her through every flight they took tonight as their joined bodies, rolled over the waves of pleasure and pain with the doldrum winds ringing through their veins. The magic sealing their magical bond, holding on to trances of sanity. She smelled of vanilla and cocoa butter. He thought he had started liking the taste of it. There was light dust of freckles around her nose. Her eyelids were innocently fluttering. And her breath had been disturbing the trail of spurting hair on his chest. He had tried to, for the first time, to make love to a woman. Not a hasty act to quench those needs. No, she was no just a woman. She was his wife. She was the person he would be tied to. After living a lonesome life this was truly an intrusion into his privacy. And an intrusion he would like to test.

_He recalled how she had reacted to his advances. Could it be called taming a cornered beast? He had seen her ferocity. When he had tentatively touched her ankle, he had trailed up his fingers leaving goosebumps over her leg, drawing soothing circles over her kneecap. He had skipped the journey up…for the time being. Instead, he had taken her small hands into his calloused, cut and roughened palm. Holding her gaze, he had lowed his lips on her knuckles. And he had lost himself then and there. He had failed to stop his lips gracing each of those diminutive hills with soft kisses. And on of the 8__th__ knuckle, he had nipped, a tiniest bite. Just to get a reaction out of her. Her eyes had flared up, and she had rubbed her thighs together. And to stop his progression she had gripped upon his hands with all her might. _

_Severus thought she was hovering over the cusp of uncertainty. If he had been questioning their stand in all this farce, she had shown him a path they could walk on together. And now it was his turn to help her take the first step. He had pulled at her hands with such force, that they had fallen backward together. Skin to skin, heart over heart. And he had held her in his arms. His nose had brushed against her ear shell. His lips had pecked at the soft skin. Nestled in between her warm and soft legs, he had stirred to life. Once he had her over him, he had to let go of her hands. In reflex, she must have circled them around his back. In fear and anticipation, ten nails were digging into his scarred back. He had a tempting desire to spell a mirror and watch those tiny new scars. It was her first show of claiming him as hers, something he would want to commit to memory._

_For a couple of moments, she had sat still on his lap. Testing waters perhaps! That thought had made him chuckle. And as if to throw him a counter challenge, she had pressed herself firmly above him and had began the primal foreplay. The subtle dance called grinding. He had to hold her still. Gripping her waist in an iron hold, he had bitten on her neck, sucking the gradually forming red patch, smoothing away the display of his ferocity. _

Now, she was covered with many such displays of his wild love. First, he had felt a subtle shift in the way she had started gasping. Then she had mumbled indistinct words. But being a man who had bedded with nightmares for two decades of his miserable life, Severus Snape knew how nightmares jolted the victim from peaceful sleep to petrified wakefulness. He never knew how to hug, just to assure the person across. Lily had done them so often, so naturally, that in those innocent years before Hogwarts, he has envied her readiness at giving comfort. She had started shaking her head, and he knew he had to take the rein up once again.

He had tried something, he always thought would work for him. Trailing his fingers over her spine, he had first counted them. She was too thin, too pale and too uncared for. And now, she was his responsibility. He would chalk out a plan, first thing in the morning. Yes, that would call for potions, supplements and five balanced meals. Her knee shook, and he had felt himself stir again. He had opted for pressing his palm flat on her back and draw lazy circles over the expanse of her soft skin. She was whimpering now. And all he could think of was planting assuring kisses on her head. In his blissfully husky voice, he had whispered in the quiet air of the bedroom. The very air that now smelled of musk, arousal, and sweat. "You are safe…I got you…L…" He dared not to utter the last three letters. They had many hurdles to cross over. Right now, they were just trying to understand the dynamics of husband and wife. Would she ever think of him as a friend? No, he wouldn't stretch luck, to be her lover. And he had felt his anger boil up at that. He was a possessive man. And if it was his wife's love, he would very much prefer he had her entire attention till the last day of his life. He wanted to live now. For her. She had slowly started becoming his little paradise. And also for all the new relations, he had formed in the past few days.

Smiling at his capacity to start wishing once again, Severus had leaned down again and had nearly planted a chaste kiss over her scrunched-up brow…

"Ron…no…. Ron…don't leave me…do not... please come back…"

His lips were a hair away from her head, his hands on her back had stilled. Was he truly doomed, never to be loved by a soul? He had tried not to squeeze her too tight, throw her away from him, and shake her awake. Was it going to be like this, live with a woman, who will love a dead man? Had he not done that for all these years. Fate was a trickster.

The moment he had felt her stir, felt her whimpering grow by the passing seconds, and was certain she would wake up with a scream at the loss of her lover, he had closed his eyes and had pretended to sleep.

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A/N: I hope I am doing a good job with this one...


	5. Chapter 5

**_Disclaimer_**: _The regular disclaimer still stays in place, I owe nothing but the AU and OC. The rest belongs to JKR. This one is an interrelated fic. The readers are requested to read the other associated fics posted under the SCARS series. There are currently two uploaded series. A couple of more will be added.__  
__My mind lives in the Harry Potter fanfiction world though my body is still thankfully anchored in the monotonous reality of existence. My themes, plotline, and storyline may, therefore, get indirectly influenced by many of the brilliant fanfiction writers on this site. And I humbly bow to such creative genius who give me much needed literary pleasures to see through the toils of mundane life. Lastly, I don't have a beta, so please be merciful. Reviews would encourage this introvert writer to peep out of her literary closet._

* * *

**Panther's Lioness- 5**

She felt like she was drifting through the mist of time. A steady rhythm humming below her. Warmth and peace radiating from below into her tired bones. Ron. A moment he was holding her hand, then they were running together across the ocean shore of the Shell Cottage. Ron, giving her a bunch of wildflowers. And the next one was Ron, sneaking into her bed at the Burrows. He loved her through his sloppy kisses, holding her face in his sweaty palms. But all she could think of was his shining honeydew eyes. His eyes would say it out loud. He was truly deeply in love with this bookworm. And he would love her…She had brought her hands up to hold his head to reciprocate his ardor kisses. But then, his face had started melting. Like ice, like a figurine burning from inside… His eyes had grown wild in terror, his mouth had grown wide and deafening her senses, his scream of agony had echoed through her body…and slowly he had started vanishing in thin air, like smoke losing its identity.

"Ron…no…. Ron…don't leave me…don't please come back…" She had cried out to the dissipating figure of her lover.

The very next moment, she had felt herself half tangled over a sleeping Severus Snape. Her husband. No, this is a bad dream, a joke of the universe. She had all but pushed herself away from the prone man. Disgusted and ashamed of herself. How could she forget, how could she allow herself to give away what she had been saving for Ron?

Clapping her hand over her mouth, she had tried hard to keep her screams bottled up. Managing to untangle the twisted sheets away from her body, she had hastily grabbed at her tunic, still lying at the foot of the bed, and had dashed into the adjoining bathroom. Closing the door shut, she had rested her forehead on the cold wood. Her head was reeling, her breath labored. Her senses had been tossed into a hurricane. Staggering into the shower, she had realized the first time. The showerhead, registered movement, and water, lukewarm would pour in a steady drizzle, at the presence of a human occupant.

She wanted that water to grow hot, melt her sweaty skin, burn it actually. There were many creatures that could shred their skin. If she could somehow do that…? Her skin, its ghosting hair, its mosaic patterns, its softness, its brushes, its smell and everything that she secretly thought would excite Ron- she would gift him all that. But instead, she had given those little beautiful everyday things to a dour man. Her husband, who until last year was her teacher. A person she actually never loved.

But then, all these that transpired some time ago? Those wisps of emotions, his insecurities, his baffling discoveries of how he could make her respond to his touch, to his lips, to his hovering breath, to his thrust, to his vibrating rhythm, to his call, to his whispers of love and adoration. SO many times, was she close to peppering him with kisses, just like he had showered nipping bites, leaving his signature on her blushing skin. There were times when she thought he was riding into the heart of a raging battle, and then he was simply, staying afloat on the surface of a quiet lonely pond in the heart of a dark forest.

Hermione was an avid reader but never had she come across a character who could draw enigma with poignant words. This man, on the other side of that closed bathroom door, had drawn motifs, and patterns of love and affection on her. Like a painter's brush strokes busy adding color to those fluffy clouds witnessing the setting of the Sun over the distant Horizon. Through varied pressure of his fingers, he had told her again and again, she was meant to be alive. She was powerful beyond her imagination. And that he would love her, cherish her, hold her, battle her fears and hide her tears from the brutal world.

Sev…NOT She belongs to RON BILIUS WEASLEY! She had started scratching her skin raw. There were glaring red nail marks on her arms, legs, and slowing they had started extending to other parts of her body. She had to remove these sullied layers of skins, get rid of it, it had become toxic. She dared not to close her eyes, the sprays of her troubled them, but she preferred to punish them. They were supposed to look for Ron and not decide to fall…!

"NO!" the single word rolled about the small confined space, vibrating rejection echoing over the walls, piercing through millions of droplets of water, mingling with the wasted stream and found its way down the cornered drain. _Why was she so confused? How she could stop thinking about Ron, had she not promised herself, that Ron would be the one to reside in her heart. Had she not taken inspiration from the man she had just slept with._

_The man? YES! That MAN! He had loved Lily Potter, and now he had made love to her. How on earth had he managed to? But then…_Running her frustrated hands through her heavily wet chestnut hair, she had tugged at them, gulping another scream. And his actions were genuine. He had kept his mind open to her. She had seen, his thoughts getting reflected in her head. His uncertainties, his torn emotions at being not good enough for companionship_. And he had also doubted himself if he would ever be a father caring and loving unlike his own? Father! Like she was truly going to be pregnant, as if she would assist in the growth of a child, like, it was actually happening? Was she insane, when had she gone so beguiling?_

She had slapped at the jade black walls. Angry slaps that strung her palms. She was Ron's. If she was to lose it, her well-kept virginity, it was Ron's to have. Ron Ron Ron…. she couldn't allow herself to be someone else's this was a crime. And she was going to punish herself, yes, she will have to join Ron. Dripping wet, she had jumped out of the shower and had grabbed the tunic. She had held on to the washbasin, and her eyes had caught those visible love bites. Marking her his. Why did he need to be so passionate about everything? As if she was a musical instrument and he had transformed himself into a maestro. His fingers had strum at her strings, blown out her shyness, paced her heartbeat to dance at the beat of erotic music. And he was uncertain_? No, No, what magic is this, that is drawing her to him._ She was Ron's. This is a crime; she had bellowed angrily and had flung the bathroom door open.

The sudden bung had made him jump off the bed. Still, in utter shock and disbelief, she had looked back at him, her arms stretched out beside her petite body, holding onto the door frame for support. But her stupor had lasted for a second or two. Screaming her lungs out, a resounding "NO!" she had turned. Her wet hair had turned into several knives slicing through the warm bedroom air.

Throwing the adjacent bedroom door open, she had broken into a desperate run. Unmindful of where she is heading to, she had kept chanting "Ron, Ron, Ron" her sobbing voice was ringing loud in the empty castle. In no time, she was climbing stairs. Up and up. She had kept going. Open sky. At last. her legs had started throbbing in pain_. But it will soon be over, she will be with Ron, all she needs to do is just take that leap of faith. For love, For Ron. _She had continued to trudge on towards this edge of the flat platform of the Astronomy Tower.

She had nearly taken the final leap…when two hands had shot out and had grabbed her waist and had hurled her backward. They had fallen like a heap of flesh and bones. She had been shrieking like a banshee, kicking and scratching those bony arms pinning her down to life, when flying off to death was so euphoric.

* * *

A/N: Things are getting worse, and I am at my wit's end. And writing keeps me sane in these troubled days.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Disclaimer_**: _The regular disclaimer still stays in place, I owe nothing but the AU and OC. The rest belongs to JKR. This one is an interrelated fic. The readers are requested to read the other associated fics posted under the SCARS series. There are currently two uploaded series. A couple of more will be added.__  
__My mind lives in the Harry Potter fanfiction world though my body is still thankfully anchored in the monotonous reality of existence. My themes, plotline, and storyline may, therefore, get indirectly influenced by many of the brilliant fanfiction writers on this site. And I humbly bow to such creative genius who give me much needed literary pleasures to see through the toils of mundane life. Lastly, I don't have a beta, so please be merciful. Reviews would encourage this introvert writer to peep out of her literary closet._

* * *

**Panther's Lioness- 5**

_The moment he had felt her stir, felt her whimpering grow by the passing seconds, and was certain she would wake up with a scream at the loss of her lover, he had closed his eyes and had pretended to sleep._

He had tried to build up stronger mental shields. But this bond that he now shared with his new wife resisted his efforts. In a haze of dense clouds, the very ones he enjoyed escaping into, on his broom, while he was still a new Potion Master at Hogwarts; he saw them run across an empty beach, he saw him giving her some flowers…The rest, he had seen them too. Those moments right before she woke up and pushed at his prone body.

He had felt her hastily retreat, had felt the bed creak, and the weight above it shift away to the edges. And all the while he had felt those three letters crush him. They weighed him down in the depths of the Lake, and all the while the surface of the water was never too far above. He could see the sun glazing the surface of the rippling water, struggling for breath, struggling to reach above, while the weight of the word "Ron" kept pulling him down, even the mere-folks were watching him drown from afar.

He had seen her enter the bathroom in a hurry. She had managed to drape the tunic around her to hide her modesty, but he had seen the evidence of his wild lovemaking, growing in prominence over her thin shoulders_. Soft as a feather, meows like a kitten, growls like a lioness, preys on his self-control like… like illusive pantheress_. A true Gryffindor. His wife. The woman, he had exhausted and had in turn allowed himself to get tired under her fierce and subtle ministrations. He had felt the bristle of magic, the sealing of the bond when he could no longer delay his unbecoming at her sudden outburst of ecstatic orgasm. She had rocked his world, body, mind and soul.

He had heard the sound of the shower and had to stop his mind from imagining how the water droplets might enjoy rolling over her body. He envied each one of them. Each one of those tiny drops was daring to touch HIS wife. He was a spy for most of his life. And over the time his senses had gone sharper. The mumbling in between the sound of the shower, fragments of her inner monologue echoed in his aggrieved mind. Severus heard her cry through the door. Her screams had left him shattered.

Hermione was too young. And she had loved Ron Weasley fiercely. Severus Snape could not bring himself to feeling jealous. No, even he had loved Lily Evans too much, that even her death could not make him walk away and look ahead. But Time was a healer they said. And he was just the fourth hand, of a broken clock. The other three hands of the hour, minutes and seconds had kept time like eternal soldiers, but he had simply stood still from the moment he had hugged his unrequited love's dead body.

He had sold his body to the two sides of this war, that took every ounce of his energy, his mind, and his capabilities and had feasted on them like scavengers. He was barely living until Hermione Granger had taken his proffered hand and had decided to accept the proposal of walking by his side for the rest of their lives. And he had dared to look past his personal Hell, hoping this new lease of life would give him peace.

_She too is healing, hurt and war-worn, Severus._ How was he going to argue with his inner monologue? Well, he had seen how close those three Gryffindors were. So many died, so many couldn't continue. And that second wave of new attacks led by Fenrir Greyback. Snape had suspicions, but with the war growing so close, with his role as a puppet Headmaster, there was little he could do.

These days they were saying, Greyback was trying to become the next Dark Lord. Yes, there were attacks and people were getting abducted from their homes at the dead of the night. The most common argument was that the werewolf was plotting to take advantage of the present state of the dwindling wizarding world and establish werewolf supremacy at its helm. And in that calculated raid at one of his lairs, Snape had seen the werewolf's atrocities. Even from something so heart-wrenching and gruesome, something innocent and beautiful could be born. He was yet again a godfather. When Draco was born, he was young and still grieving over Lily. But the moment he had held this baby girl, he knew he had to learn to live again for her. Time had healed him gradually, and he had started looking forward to the days that were waiting for him.

And if it meant that he needed to be there for Hermione, he would. He would have to be mature enough to see past her raving about dead Weasley. He would have to teach himself to love and show affection, at least within these walls of his chambers. She must heal. He needed her. They needed her and Snape was not going to let her give up.

He could still feel the raising sense of despair. Perhaps all this was due to their bond, or perhaps a bit of him was still lodged into her conscience or maybe the vise versa. But it was painful. He had tried not to cry out in the growing agony squeezing his heart. But then things had turned foggy. Like a mist creeping over a deserted meadow. He was not so shocked at the bang of the door. But Hermione's face had thrown him off. Those eyes, mirrored hate, death, and murder of ambition, zeal to live. And he had never seen her look so bereft of optimism.

A bang of another door. The bedroom door this time, then another, this one was of his quarters. He had jumped out of the bed. He had tried to call her out. "Mis…Her…". What would he call her as? Shaking his head in dismay, he had sharply rebuking himself at his own stupidity. "Ron, I am Coming." His eyes had bulged out at that ringing admission. He had hardly waited for his mind to work out whether he had heard it in his mind or whether his ears had picked up that call of distress. Snatching his robes from the peg beside the open door, he had broken into a run. His body was still healing from the shock of spells he had undergone through the Battle of Hogwarts and in the Greyback lair strike the bang of wizards had organized. But he could see her dashing up the stairs. And his heart had sunk deeper and deeper.

Pushing himself, he had taken the stairs two at a time, to get to his hysteric wife. Why were the stairways heeding to her requests? Did sentient Hogwarts already start recognizing her as a part of him? The moment the door to the Astronomy door gave in to her silent persuasion, he had started panicking. No, No, No. He had flung himself up, the next of the remaining steps, bruising his knees at sharp edges. Growling in pain, he had picked himself up and had run, just in time to grab the young woman at her petite waist, circling his arms around it and hurling both of them backward.

As they had fallen back, crushing against the hard floor, she had started throwing her legs trying to hit his knees. Shrieking like a madwoman, she had started hitting his arms, her nails had drawn fresh blood. She had nearly knocked at his nose with her swinging head, but he had succeeded in thwarting her suicidal attempt. She was very much alive, locked in his arms. He had rolled their joined bodies onto one side and had pleaded her, without even realizing it. "Please, don't, Please, please, please, I can't, dear, please."

His baritone voice, breaking into sobs by the minute had quietened her. She was tired and had melted into his arms. Those seemed secure and comforting. But his pleas had anchored her back to his side. She had felt his tears drop on her red cheeks. Severus Snape was pleading to her and was crying for her. She had started shifted a bit. And Snape had adjusted themselves, so that, now she was nestled in his embrace, her head resting on his chest. They were holding on to each other, eyes closed and crying together.

He had to be sure that she was not leaving, so he had whispered into the night air, "Please, stay, don't give up." She was gasped and had gone still for some time. A small wet and defeated whisper had fired his resolve, "Give me one reason, Sir?" Swiftly, he had brought his hands up and had caged her wet face in between his bony palms. Tilling her head up, he had looked into her glistening eyes, her shock could have halted him, but even Time would bow in front of a determined Snape. Bringing his head down he had captured her lips in between his own. She was his, he was hers, and let Death be damned, if magic had decided through their bonding that they were meant to be together, so it be.

* * *

A/N: Hoping each one of you all, are still safe, indoors and enjoying life! Drop a word or two, even I would need encouragement to keep myself going on.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer**_: _The regular disclaimer still stays in place, I owe nothing but the AU and OC. The rest belongs to JKR. This one is an interrelated fic. The readers are requested to read the other associated fics posted under the SCARS series. There are currently two uploaded series. A couple of more will be added.  
My mind lives in the Harry Potter fanfiction world though my body is still thankfully anchored in the monotonous reality of existence. My themes, plotline, and storyline may, therefore, get indirectly influenced by many of the brilliant fanfiction writers on this site. And I humbly bow to such creative genius who give me much needed literary pleasures to see through the toils of mundane life. Lastly, I don't have a beta, so please be merciful. Reviews would encourage this introvert writer to peep out of her literary closet._

* * *

**Panther's Lioness- 7**

_He had to be sure that she was not leaving, so he had whispered into the night air, "Please, stay, don't give up." She was gasped and had gone still for some time. A small wet and defeated whisper had fired his resolve, "Give me one reason, Sir?" Swiftly, he had brought his hands up and had caged her wet face in between his bony palms. Tilling her head up, he had looked into her glistening eyes, her shock could have halted him, but even Time would bow in front of a determined Snape. Bringing his head down he had captured her lips in between his own. She was his, he was hers, and let Death be damned, if magic had decided through their bonding that they were meant to be together, so it be. _

He had poured every ounce of his emotion, his fierce resolution into that consuming kiss. He was a master of the economy of words. But his actions did have the capacity to speak volumes for themselves. Severus Snape had seen the world and had grappled in its dark and gruesome underbelly, long enough to understand the value of genuine companionship. It might have been the demand of the Ministry for a couple to consummate their marriage. For him it was equal to taking a plunge into a sea of pure bliss.

He had soaked himself in that calming water. Had felt his sin wash away as she had held him close. He had drowned himself within her. He had seen his battered soul reflect through her honey-dipped eyes. Mirror of truth and purity. He had also seen the flicker of hope for him to redeem himself. She had unlocked his darkest cells filled with desolation. She had gone in each of those confines and had lit a candle of hope. And now she herself was in need to fire. In need of hope, for she had given away every bit to save him.

He wanted to make her realize she could hide in his arms. She could anchor her shattered beliefs in his deep-seated principles. And rebuild, reinvent life. As he had let his passion override his lingering uncertainty, he had forcefully invaded her surrendering mouth. For the first time, he had truly tasted her. That mouth that had tormented him over the years with endless questions had succumbed to his passionate attack. He had caught her tongue in between his sharp teeth and had sucked on it, like a bee sucking nectar from a flower. He had consumed her moans, her breath, her tears as well. She was his to keep. And he would make sure she knows it, through this single most intoxicating sensual kiss, under the night sky.

Hermione had passed out halfway through the sheering kiss. Severus was nearly glad that the witch was still letting him kiss her, even if she was not an active participant. He had felt her body go limp. Reluctantly, he had released her swollen lips and had whispered against them, "Hold on, please, you are safe, I promise, you are safe…I…will keep you safe." Picking her up, and gathering her in his arms, he had gone back to his quarters. Under the lit-up scorns, he had seen how defeated her face looked. Even if she was unconscious. "So young! A flower that had just blossomed." He had held her tighter in his arms and had tried walking faster.

Once inside his quarters, he had walked inside his bathroom. He had thought she might consider having another shower. So, he had tried to lower her prone body in the tub. But that turned out to be impossible. Since she was still holding on his shoulders in an iron grip. The only thing left for him to do was join her. He had stood up, once again, with her still in his arms. And had stepped into the tub. He had sat down and eased out his body. His injured knee had started throbbing. Shifting his weight, he had managed to secure her legs between his long legs. She was still senseless above his body. Sensing their presence, the taps had started pouring lukewarm water. As the level rose, Severus had gathered a wash towel, wetting it and had started wiping her face. _"those tear tracks mar her angelic beauty."_

He had never pinned himself as a romantic. Muttering poetry was beyond him. He was an avid reader, and had read several muggle books along with their magical companions. He could not help but agree that deep down he had a sensitive mind and a considerate soul. Perhaps, it was all due to the bond. Or else how was he going to explain, this ebbing desire to simply hold her. This urgency to touch her. This solace after having realized, she was here to stay, by him. He had felt himself plummeting towards her, desperate to ripe off those layers of grief sinking their parasitic teeth on her mind, and draining her positive resources.

Discarding the wet towel, he had hoisted her up a bit to nuzzle at her neck. He had to listen to her shallow breath. He needed to hear her heartbeat. In the quiet room, with water lapping lazily around them, the tap pouring water in slow tickle, her steady heartbeat was the only music he enjoyed listening to. He had brought her arms over and had crossed them above their prone body. Weaving his fingers through numb ones, he had kept on squeezing, in sync with her heartbeat.

If he had the option to choose, he would prefer this unceremonious bath that he was sharing with Hermione, over all other proprieties. Here he was a caregiver, a role though not new, as a husband, it was one of the many things he was ready to do. He had wept quietly. Praying for her to recognize him as a man worthy enough. Praying to the universe not to keep him from having a second chance to live. And all the while he had mumbled under his breath. "please, please, please, choose me. Stay with me."

He had felt her take a deep breath and had felt her grow stiff. In a hoarse voice she had accused him, "Why?" Never lifting his head off her neck, he had mumbled against her skin, "What, why?" She had simply shrugged. She had left numb. And relaxed. She had felt a strange tang of euphoria still lingering in her parched mouth. His kiss. Why did he have to be so maddeningly mysterious? He had opened every door of his being ajar for her, still, there was so much to discover. She had to ask something, anything because of his very presence, their close proximity was arousing her. To break that spell she had muttered, "But you…you love Harry's mom."

This time he had gone still. Bringing his head up, he had brushed his nose over her cheek. "Yes…loved." She had nodded in acceptance. Growing restless, she had pushed his hands away, and had sat up, still nestled in between his long legs. He had grown unsure, was his honest answer, pushing her away instead of helping her to see how empty his heart was. She had held herself in a tight embrace, hugged her body with her cold arms. Straightening her shoulders, she had driven the sharp nail home, "I still love Ron."

Bringing his hands up, he had rubbed his face, defeated. He was not needed. She had sat still, hugging herself tighter, and had closed her eyes, shut. Even then, she could replay his kiss over and over. He had awoken her muscles, he had torched up her soul, he had claimed his share and he had shown her how fierce his love for her could grow in a fraction of a second. Each time, she had licked her lips, she had tasted him. And she could not stop herself from doing that again and again. His legs had moved, and she had felt the loss of warmth around her. She heard the water slouch. She had peered at him from under her wet lashes. In the practiced move, he had climbed out. Without a backward glance, he had slowly walked towards the door.

She had felt the quietness prying her open. Hastily, she had called out to him, "Sir, why, I mean, it was supposed to hurt, you know, the girls would say, it would always hurt the first time, why then…"He had caught her reflection over the counter mirror. She was blushing, even in this steamy closed space, her pale skin, her creeping blush, her wet hair, had made him growl. But his was not hers. Not yet. Still turned away from her, he had replied in a husky voice, "Because, Miss Granger, you have already ridden, a thestral, a hippogriff, lived in the wild, rode a full-grown dragon, fought a bloody battle, the hymen can only sustain some normal exercise. You on the other hand, have already lived an extraordinary life."

With that, he had walked out and closed the door shut behind him. If Snape had stayed around a little longer, if he had dared to look back at his wife, he would have seen the dawn of realization on her face. In the empty bathroom, amidst the sound of water and her whispers of breath, she had uttered an epiphany, "But it was one lone panther, that made me feel…" And Ron was never close to a panther.

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A/N: I am badly in need of positive vibes these days.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Disclaimer**_: _The regular disclaimer still stays in place, I owe nothing but the AU and OC. The rest belongs to JKR. This one is an interrelated fic. The readers are requested to read the other associated fics posted under the SCARS series. There are currently the following companion fics under this series:  
Thunder and Trance  
In the arms of Her Snake Slayer  
Dragon's Ruby Bride  
To, Mrs. A. Weasley  
A couple of more will be added.  
My mind lives in the Harry Potter fanfiction world though my body is still thankfully anchored in the monotonous reality of existence. My themes, plotline, and storyline may, therefore, get indirectly influenced by many of the brilliant fanfiction writers on this site. And I humbly bow to such creative genius who give me much needed literary pleasures to see through the toils of mundane life. Lastly, I don't have a beta, so please be merciful. Reviews would encourage this introvert writer to peep out of her literary closet._

* * *

**Panther's Lioness-8**

_With that, he had walked out and closed the door shut behind him. If Snape had stayed around a little longer, if he had dared to look back at his wife, he would have seen the dawn of realization on her face. In the empty bathroom, amidst the sound of water and her whispers of breath, she had uttered an epiphany, "But it was one lone panther, that made me feel…" And Ron was never close to being a panther. _

Standing outside the closed bathroom door, Severus Snape had swayed a bit. Grabbing on to the door frame, he had found he needed to once again find his place, hold on to some driftwood. For his whole world have got shipwrecked by the three-letter word "Ron". He had never liked the boy. Though he had tolerated the rest of that family. He would be a cynic if he was to believe he outrightly, abhorred the twins.

Though Percy had been a preachy, rule-abiding boy, and Bill a hard worker, Charles a studious boisterous creature lover; Ron lacked all these qualities which Severus had expected him to inherit. It seemed the Weasley generic qualities had skipped a child and had found roots once again in the youngest Weasley girl. Ronald Weasley was hot-headed, loyal, friendly, easy-going and a strategist. But those alone were not enough to woo the enigmatic Hermione Granger.

That lingering pang of jealousy had pushed at the walls of his heart and had nudged him to turn back and scream at his wife. Closing his eyes, he had counted to ten once again. He needed to focus on the greater things, and he needed to get Hermione to focus on them as well, and if possible, forget and forgo the Weasley.

When he had managed to rein in his erratic emotions, he had looked up, only to see the disheveled empty bed to stare back at him. A curse had flown out of his mouth. All he wanted was to burn that wretched reminder of pleasure that was not his to claim. He had felt cheated by Fate and Destiny. But could he die now? Right at this moment! He felt even the ghosts of the castle were laughing at his expense.

Blinking away his tears, he had stormed out of the room. When he had finally walked into his personal potions' lab, his emotions had given away to silent tears. Pulling out the nearest stool, he had sat on it, letting his tears fall free. Several cauldrons of wolfsbane potion were brewing. The tendrils of smoke that danced over their open mouths reminded him of her chestnut hair. Reminded him of her slender arms, reminded him of her shallow breath that had caressed his body, kissed his neck, his chest, his lips, his temple. He had dared to think of the forbidden? Will she ever kiss him? Will she ever desire him, as he had? Why was it difficult for others to take the leap of faith when it came to him? Why did he have to be so unreachable for the rest of them? Why did his father, the Marauders, Lily- each and every one of them treat him in such unhuman manners that he had to hide away and lock himself behind those iron walls of his occulumency shields?

He had seen Longbottom in the courtroom, sitting right next to his new wife. To say that he was baffled at the young man's earlier proposal was to put things lightly. _This bloody war had yet again, turned kids into sensible adults._ At first the stammering Gryffindor had sent him an elf in the middle of the night, informing him, that a huge contingent of students was camping in the room of requirement. And that he had managed to make the room pay heed his orders. He had thought perhaps Granger had a hand in that.

_Then he had happened to meet the man. In a dark unused corridor. Longbottom had planned it out with the elf. Drawing his wand out he had bravely asked Snape about the Boggart incident. Snape had snarled and had muttered distasteful, "…then you had turned the boggart version of me into a blasphemy…"_

_"Headmaster, you need to be specific, or else, Spots will be too happy to toss you out of the castle," A rare sly smile had appeared on the familiar boy's smooth countenance. Finally, he has grown up. Snape had to eat his words, his many insults and disparaging speeches that he had inflicted on the boy, "I was wearing your grandmother's dress, bag, and hat."_

_Neville had immediately relaxed, though he still had his wand lazily trained on the stoic headmaster. "I am sorry about that."_

"_Why did you wish to see me?"_

"_To thank you and to inform you about something other than whatever is going on with the Dark Lord."_

"_So you think I am loyal to the cause and not death eaters."_

"_I am sure sir, in between your Dark Lord and a pervert like Greyback, you would still prefer Voldy!"_

"_What?"- his surprise had echoed through the empty corridor._

"_Like I said, who would you prefer to kneel in front, if given as a last option, definitely not Greyback."_

"_Where did you hit your head this time...took a tumble down the stairs I presume…" Snape had managed to drawl, even if his mind was racing miles ahead to understand the implications Longbottom was hinting at._

"_I am coming from Processor's Alectro's whipping room, but you are aware of that, aren't you? But that is not the point. The point is we need to come up with a secondary plan, to fend off Greyback…"_

"_Where did you come up with this information?"_

"_You must be aware what Harry and the rest are doing by now, and like you a handful of other death eaters have come to the same conclusion, Headmaster. So has Greyback. But he is not alone and divided, is he? He has a pack, strong and obedient, and driven. Every one of them hate something with great passion. Their subject of hate is Us, the wizards. Imagine, with the Dark Lord vanquished and several of the wizards dead and killed, who will live on, a handful of us and the werewolves, who will grab on to that situation and encroach, invade and conquer the Magical World…you are far more intelligent sir."_

"_What do you want?"_

_Longbottom had handed him over a vial, instead of replying. "Hermione is a prolific teacher. She had taught me to brew wolfsbane, just in case, Professor Lupin needed restocking and you were not around."_

_As Snape had tried to wrap his mind around this strange encounter, the wall behind Longbottom had shifted, and the young man had vanished into the darkness. Only his soft whisper had managed to reach Severus, "Decide fast, Sir, Greyback will not give us time to recoup. Pansy has already been marked."_

The next time it had been one of his own. Blaise Zabini. The dark Italian had been brought right into his personal quarters by determined Spots, the feisty elf. The very night before the Final Battle. The young man had looked worst to wear, but he had succeeded in reporting that Pansy was indeed fine, she had a narrow escape from the clutches of the deatheater werewolf.

They had indeed won the war, and as predicted by Neville Longbottom, many wizards and witches have been fallen prey to Greyback's surprise attacks. They were lucky, truly very very lucky to have rescued the Brown and the Greengrass girls.

A soft chime from his office had jolted him off. This was an odd hour for someone to come knocking at his quarters. Unless there were fresh attacks to be informed off. Reluctantly he had got up and wiping his face thoroughly, he had made his way to his sparely lit office. The many bookcases, cramped around the room, had made it impossible to throw an adequate amount of light into the closed space unless one was lighting a thousand candles at one go.

It was not the door. It was the floo connection. Someone was trying desperately to contact him. But who? Fetching his wand, but hiding it within his robes, he had discovered he had been utterly unprepared for this sudden meeting. Like Hell! This is my wedding night after all! That should be expected of me!

The moment he had flicked his wand at the fireplace, it had burst into green flames and a very familiar face of Blaise Zabini had appeared.

"Good evening, or would that be morning, Sir?"

"Mr. Zabini, please step in."

He had thrown a side glance at the still closed bedroom door, as an added precautionary measure, he had sent a nonverbal silencing and locking spell at it. Blaise had caught him staring at the door, and had the decency to look away.

"I am sorry for disturbing you at this hour, I should not have kept you away from your wife. Accept my compliments and do extend them to Mrs. Snape."

"I will."

"Sir, I came to inform you of some of the major occurrences at the ministry after you had to leave with Granger, I mean Mrs. Snape."

"Take a seat, Mr. Zabini and please abreast me with all that I happened to miss."

"Before that, I would like to hand over a present I have been entrusted with by the Headmistress." Digging into his robes, Zabini had brought out a small parcel. A quick tap of his wand had transformed the miniature present into a sizable box, that one required to manage with two hands. Setting it over Snape's ebony dress the young man had offered a shy but genuine smile, "she had also asked me to tell you, she often dreamt of the day, when she would find you married to your perfect match."

Grimacing at the words, Snape had simply shrugged, "Enough of compliments, tell the Headmistress, to recover faster, she has a school to run, after all. Now, spill out the rest."

Before Zabini had left, Snape had gone back into his lab and had brought out three vials. One he had shoved inside his robes, and the other two he had delivered to the young man's extended palm.

"How confident are you that Longbottom's trial test has been successful?"

Twirling the offered vials in his hand, Blaise had muttered, "he had asked me to stay back in his cottage, while…he…they…"

"How had he planned to go about it? Miss Parkinson was never an easy person to deal with reason…"

"Neville has changed more than we could have given him credit for Sir. He is very much a Slytherin, if he decides to put his heart into it. I don't wish to ever know what had happened to him under Carrows, but he does have this capacity to strike when you least expect it. All he has shared with me is that the potion needs to be applied all over the wounds, all at one time. And that sir, can only be achieved if you are spraying the patient, or submerging him or her in a tub filled with it."

"I had reservations regarding its consistency. It was thick like tar. he had mentioned just a scoop of it, would perhaps, reduce..An innovative approach, and utterly unexpected from Longbottom."

"He had suggested the same for Lavender."

"Mr. Zabini I would like to remind you, this does not cure the tendencies, For Mrs. Longbottom, I was told she had been mildly attacked but for Mrs. Zabini…"

"I know, my influential relative has been benevolent in providing us shelter for the same purpose. If I have to lock her up…"

"Which you will certainly have to…"

"I know, I mean there is a room that will serve that purpose…but Longbottom seemed hopeful, Sir, what do you think…"

"The ancient texts written by the German wizards, indicate, she will have her faculties intact, but you will have to understand, she is a woman and especially for her, looks do matter. That is among the primary scars along with the mental trauma, you need to handle with care. I don't say this is an easy walkthrough, Blaise, brace for the long fight."

"I am prepared sir, I won't be able to meet you as often, due to security measure, but I will send words through Dean or Seamus. Sir, just don't rattle Seamus too much, I mean that poor man has Daph to care for, she is still to say a word. Even though Thomas had mentioned, during their binding ceremony, just after he had kissed her, she had muttered, "Iris". Though I am not sure what that means."

"It is some progress at least of some sort, Mrs. Finnigan, recognizes her Irish man."

The former Slytherin student and his former head of the house had shared a burst of light-hearted laughter. The only one they could manage to in these hard times. Blaise had left soon after.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Disclaimer**_: _The regular disclaimer still stays in place, I owe nothing but the AU and OC. The rest belongs to JKR. This one is an interrelated fic. The readers are requested to read the other associated fics posted under the SCARS series. There are currently the following companion fics under this series:  
Thunder and Trance  
In the arms of Her Snake Slayer  
Dragon's Ruby Bride  
To, Mrs. A Weasley  
A couple of more will be added.  
My mind lives in the Harry Potter fanfiction world though my body is still thankfully anchored in the monotonous reality of existence. My themes, plotline, and storyline may, therefore, get indirectly influenced by many of the brilliant fanfiction writers on this site. And I humbly bow to such creative genius who give me much needed literary pleasures to see through the toils of mundane life. Lastly, I don't have a beta, so please be merciful. Reviews would encourage this introvert writer to peep out of her literary closet._

* * *

**Panther's Lioness-9**

_With that, he had walked out and closed the door shut behind him. If Snape had stayed around a little longer, if he had dared to look back at his wife, he would have seen the dawn of realization on her face. In the empty bathroom, amidst the sound of water and her whispers of breath, she had uttered an epiphany, "But it was one lone panther, that made me feel…" And Ron was never close to being a panther. _

No, the room had lost its warmth. She was a fool to think otherwise. The air around was hazy. The water still lapping around her was lukewarm. But to her the place felt cold. Freezing. Dreadful and ominous. She knew in her heart he was the missing piece. Ron…was Ron this warm, hot even? He was sweaty. Though the last time she had held him, he was cold like freezing winter.

She was alive. He had snatched her off the teeth of Death and had held her rooted back to life. Who would in their right mind do that? For someone like her? Pretentious, letting her lover die, and saving her own skin. Scandalous, instead of moaning the death of her love, here she was thinking and wanting, pining right now to be held by her new husband. She might have told him, she still loved Ron, but did she? Could she lie to herself?

Was it fair to compare the advances of a fumbling boy with that of an experienced man…who had perhaps bedded several women in his lifetime? Bringing her crinkled fingers to her lips, she had languidly traced over them. What was he thinking of, when he had kissed her like that under the night sky?

Was there any room for doubting his intentions? Even now, he was thinking of her. She could feel his sorrow, his grief and his helplessness through their lingering mental connection. He had said, he loved Lily. Now, he had held her like she meant the world to him. Will he ever mean, the world to her? Through every sigh that had echoed through their connection her husband, Severus Snape had been asking her the same question. Will he ever mean the only man she would grow to love and die happily with?

How starved was he? Terribly, or else how could he have so readily consumed her in his warm embrace, plunder her insecurities and for some stranded moments purely made love to her. Severus Tobias Snape had made love to her and in return had taught her how to make love to him. showering her with possessive love bites, which she could now see, imprints of his firm lips over her pale skin. Breathing in new life through those enlivened pores. Rekindling fire in her dying spirit. Where did he learn to alight such wild passion?

Instead of plowing her into the mattress, he had given her the reins to ride him in the beginning. While she had stared into his obsidian eyes, she had seen the spinning universe, she had traveled through space, to his traumatic childhood, to his insecure teen years and had lived through his shame and humiliation. Each and every journey she had made at his pleading, he had drawn a new score, through a nip here, a bite there, tightening and losing his grip on her.

Till the very end, his eyes had begged her to give him one token of reciprocation. She had met his thrusts, reluctantly, or perhaps the bond itself had made she do all those unspeakable things with him. She could have spoken his name aloud, but she couldn't. She could have showered an equal number of love bites, kisses, and nips on his already disfigured body, but she couldn't.

What kind of man was Snape? Possessive, ruthless, loving, caring, nurturing, sensitive, emotional, insecure, a man to fall for again and again….in a space of a single night, a single episode of sealing their bond, through a single sheering kiss, he had managed to rock her beliefs. He had managed to steal away her false self-assurance. He had shown her how brittle her resolutions were, and how easily he could make her fall for his charms. Was he a charming man? With that voice, he was a phantom, stalking old buildings, with those hands he was Hades of the underworld.

He smelled of sandalwood and parchment, ink and potion ingredients. Now all those individual smells had soaked themselves in her skin, even now she could smell him on her. How potent was his musk? Could a potion master invent something that would make him virile? Most definitely. Did he consume something like that? She doubted that. His kiss alone had made her pass out. The blinding truth behind it had shattered her identity as Hermione Granger. She was now hanging between nowhere particular.

Would he make love to her again? Would he come back and join her here? Would he nestle her within his arms and legs and brush away her growing melancholic mood? Heaving a deep sigh, Hermione had let her hand travel down her wet body and stop over the apex of her thighs. Even that felt alien. He had robbed her of her own pleasures. He had claimed each and every part of her as his own and had dared to mark them as his property. She knew this because, she remembered that sharp pinch even while riding her way through her many of the first orgasms. Snape. She was Mrs. Snape. She was the mate of an elusive, tracking, hunting seductive panther. Mrs. Hermione Snape. Even that sounded concrete, heavy, decisive and sure, just like the man when he would face the world on his own. Not like Hermione Weasley, a name that mirrored light-heartedness, a lot of laughter, less of the convoluted puzzles of the real world.

Which one would she like to be? An easy-going housewife, or a driven woman who had a right to have her say in these challenging times? She would have to leave this tub, for now, this was so oppressing. Standing up she had looked down at her. Along with love bites, he had also left behind his palm prints. Over the one that had appeared near the curve of her slender hip, she had softly pressed her own. Small and delicate, definitely mousy! A blush had crept up her cheeks, he had called her "love" not once but several times, and with such complete devotion, that the word 'love' itself had grown tendrils of affection and had mingled with her thoughts. He had fondly nuzzled against her neck. Was he fetish about it? What was he fetish about? What did he like to do the most? Bait first, make his lovers plea and pray, and then ravish them?

Hermione had groaned aloud. Slapping her cheeks with her both hands, he had pleaded her mind, "Hermione, stop, shut up, stop swooning over your…Snape, he is Snape, and you are Ron's, as of now."

In the confines of this room, her mind had chastised her again and again. Get a grip of the reality before you girl, Ron Weasley is dead, and you are married now. You are Mrs. Severus Snape. Accept it.

She had crumpled down in a heap once again, beside the tub, No, no, not yet, no so fast, she needed to keep Ron alive in her mind, she had no one else. Not even Harry. Even he had left. She had no right to know where he was. He had a family. He was not with Ginny. They had broken up before the war. Their relationship was never to mend itself. She had by now started crying aloud. Oh! Ginny, how would she manage to move past Harry, she had loved him longer than Hermione had pined for Ron. Who was she forced to marry?

The law was necessary and yet a cage of its own. It got each of the wizards and the witches protected through ancient binding spells, coupled with her own design of "the process" it cemented their defensive quotient. Even if it bordered the Dark Arts. What started as a joke, now had a chance to save each one of them from the clasps of Greyback, the new threat to the wizarding world.

A joke to create something similar to dating sites in the muggle world. How had Neville got interested in this weird project of hers, she could hardly remember. But here they were survivors rebinding together, trying to live, adjust to their fast-changing lives, waiting for the werewolf to strike again, but this time, this time, they might succeed in vanquishing him.

A chime from somewhere beyond the door had startled her. Grabbing a fresh towel from the rack beside the washbasin, she had wrapped herself with the soft fiber and had made her way towards the door. The chime had echoed through the quiet chamber once again. Where was he, that was not the clock? She had remembered how the clock sounded from before. That had to be an alarm. Was Hogwarts under attack. She had to be prepared in that case. She needed her wand now. Throwing the bathroom door open, she had marched into the bedroom. Glancing over the slept-in-bed, she had blushed once again, a niggling thought had made her growl, will this ever happen again?

Was she mad, had she not succeeded in pushing away Snape far enough that he had gone back to calling her, Miss Granger? Her shoulders had dropped at that stark realization. Why did he have to leave her wanting more? There were voices coming from behind the door that led to the living area, grabbing her wand from the dresser beside the door, she had crept closer to it. The former was joined by the later. The second had belonged to Snape. Snape, what would she call him now, here within these walls? She had tried to say the word, Severus. It sounded heavy, and soft, like freshly made chocolate, cooling crust outside, molten lava oozing out from inside. Just like the man…his voice had flown in like soft silk over her thirsty skin reverberating through her mind, _"Stay where you are, sleep in Herm... Mrs...Miss Granger."_


	10. Chapter 10

_**Disclaimer**_: _The regular disclaimer still stays in place, I owe nothing but the AU and OC. The rest belongs to JKR. This one is an interrelated fic. The readers are requested to read the other associated fics posted under the SCARS series. There are currently the following companion fics under this series:  
Thunder and Trance  
In the arms of Her Snake Slayer  
Dragon's Ruby Bride  
To, Mrs A Weasley  
A couple of more will be added.  
My mind lives in the Harry Potter fanfiction world though my body is still thankfully anchored in the monotonous reality of existence. My themes, plotline, and storyline may, therefore, get indirectly influenced by many of the brilliant fanfiction writers on this site. And I humbly bow to such creative genius who give me much needed literary pleasures to see through the toils of mundane life. Lastly, I don't have a beta, so please be merciful. Reviews would encourage this introvert writer to peep out of her literary closet._

* * *

**Panther's Lioness- 10**

Instead of going back to the lab or to the bedroom, Severus had sat alone in the living area staring back at the still-burning fire. He had hated the fact of how fate and destiny had intervened on his behalf. Running his fingers along his right wrist, he had felt the ridges of an old heirloom. Into the chilly air of the dungeons, he had whispered, "finite incantatem". A simple bracelet shimmered around his bony wrist. It belonged to his mother's only Prince Heirloom; the woman could afford to leave behind for her son. He had found it buried inside his mattress. His mother had died, probably in the hands of his own delusional drunk father…he was barely seventeen years old.

Dumbledore had always emphasized the power of Love. Though Snape had failed to taste its sweetness, he did have his fill throughout his miserable life of its rancid bitterness. He had loved Lily, but she had never loved him back equally. He had even vowed to protect Harry as a testament to his unrequited love. But he had always thought, his mother never really loved him enough. Or else she would have stood up against his muggle father. She was a witch, after all, …for the most part of his life, he had borne a deep-seated grudge against his submissive mother. Why did she take things lying down? Why didn't she fight back? Revolt?

He had been just like her, sniveling Snape! It was only when he had realized, this life was his own to protect and no one else actually cared whether he was alive or dead, that young Snape had truly turned into a new leaf. Before that he was a boy hiding behind books, speaking in soft tomes with his only friend Lily. Dark Arts had been his way to fend with this horrid uncaring world. And that had brought him under the Dark Lord's notice. Still gazing at the licking flames, Snape was smirked, the seductive taste of power, the desire to belong, the desire to be appreciated. The Deatheaters had been so accommodating…. Until all hell broke free.

Heaving a deep sigh, he had realized, he was still wearing his robe, and not a stitch under it. If Blasie had noticed that, he was a smart man not to utter a word about it. Fiddling with the bracelet, he had smiled, the same one he would perhaps reserve for Theadora or Hermione. Love had worked its magic without even letting him learn of its presence. Had he been port keyed away each time he had lost consciousness barely managing to reach the nearest apparition point…

Perhaps that had happened or else why did he not feel the rare act of magic when he had been traveled through time even if it was just a couple of minutes. He was there in front of the Dark Lord when the horrid snake had struck, but before he could even feel the blinding pain, he was standing close to the mouth of the tunnel. Potter, Hermione, and the stupid Weasley had just crept into the house, right in front of him. He didn't know what had happened next, he did not wish to know, he was just aware of the sizzling bracelet on his wrist and had looked heaven ways, muttering in awe, "Mother! You loved me, all this while, you loved me, watched over me!"

Disillusioning himself, he had left the grounds. He had to have an ally. And Remus Lupin had just been there right in front of him. The werewolf had been battling with too many death eaters. Snape had just taken out a few. And had shoved the man into an empty classroom, literally saving his life, since the wall outside had just collapsed. He had just revealed himself and had fled away to fight other death eaters. Much Later after the recurring midnight attack carried out by Greyback, Snape had divulged the secret of the bracelet to the man.

Lupin had caught hold of his sleeves and had urged, "How did you do it, Snape? How? Those three had told us, you were dead, the snake had bitten off your neck, they had seen you bleed, then how? I don't believe you had arranged for a doppelganger?"

Revealing the bracelet, Snape had murmured, "I didn't. This did."

He had then asked Lupin to fatally attack him. It had taken some coaxing, but once Lupin had managed to act on his anger, he had watched in awe, how Snape had simply been present in both places. They had been dueling on a deserted courtyard on a rarely used portion of the castle. Lupin had literally felt the shivers run down his spine when the real Snape had stood to wait behind him, the Snape's apparition had lingered in front of him, nursing a wound and finally vanishing after an hour.

A spy would always be a spy. He would plot ahead of the others. Recalling Lavender's words, assimilating Lupin's warnings, it was Snape who had approached the newly appointed Minister of Magic to sanction the raid at Greyback's Lair.

But Harry Potter never ceased to wonder him. From the turrets of the Astronomy Tower, he had seen the rest of the Battle unfold. He had heard Harry Potter declaring him "Dumbledore's Man". And at that moment, he had been truly proud of the boy. He had never felt the lurch of his heart, the pull at its sinews, until that moment. Every one of those witches and wizards had belonged to someone. But he? He was one lone panther? He had always been jealous of the Marauders. It had taken him years to master the skill. Deep in the forbidden forest, he would practice. Dumbledore had been the first to know. And he had enjoyed in revealing it to the Transfiguration Professor. Those were the only days she had been nice to him. until he had to go and follow the Headmaster's Strict orders, throw the Killing curse and spare him from an agonizing death. Draco had changed sides soon after the incident of the Prefect's Bathroom.

How these children had turned themselves into weapons. Look at Neville Longbottom, if only Alice and Frank would get to see how brave and just, how worldly-wise the boy had turned to be, they would be proud of him. Like Snape was. The boy had just made sure to save another life. Looking at Blaise, he stunned, these kids were truly teaching the world the many ways to love and strive to live life. Seamus Finnigan, Fred Weasley…These Hogwarts students had transcended to a newer level of excellence. The finest specimens of Magical Britain.

But he was prouder of Hermione Granger, the woman who had stood against every vile doctrine of this magical world and had crushed them under her feet. He had felt bad for Draco. The boy had risked his neck time and again to save his mother. Only to watch her die in his father's hand right away the demise of the Dark Lord. Will Ginny Weasley look past her hatred and truly see how broken her new husband was? Will Draco make the sensible choice to share his life with her? Will he show her his true self?

Looking back at the box delivered by Blaise, Snape had realized how much he missed Minvera and Albus. These were the two people who had made an effort to seek him out, even if he had been downright bitter with their manner of disrupting the little luxury of peace he would get in his quarters.

He had tried thinking about how it had felt to hold baby Draco in his arms all those years ago. But had failed to recollect those exact feelings. Instead, those feelings he had felt stir within him, the moment he had held Theadora in his arms, swearing to a dying young mother, barely a tween, that he would protect the babe, came back to him like crashing waves. The child had curled herself close to his chest and had wailed. Wiggling in his bony arms she had tried to get close to his skin. A quick spell had unbuttoned his waistcoat, the shirt below, and babe had rubbed her cheek against his pale skin, right over his heart. Her baby hair had tickled him, her chubby fists had knocked against his chin.

_He could still hear Fleur's scream, when the veela had managed to locate her sister in one of those treacherous caves. The poor girl had been pregnant, the werewolf had forced himself on her again and again. And now, she had gone into labor. Lupin had taken up the reins of the attack from that point. _

"_Severus, tell the others to kill any wolf trying to enter the cave, tell them to guard the mouth of the cave with their own life. Greyback will know his mate is going under labor, he will be back."_

_Fleur had urged, "Can't we just apparate her away?"_

_After sending his Patronus, Snape had joined the others in the dingy cave, "No, Mrs. Weasley, we can't, not when Gabrielle has gone under labor. And the baby is approaching, I think she has been in pain for a long time…"_

_When the baby girl had born, Lupin had handed her over to the young unwed mother. But the girl had been hemorrhaging already. None of his healing spells, his potions were working anymore. _

_Gabrielle had whispered his name, her head resting on her weeping sister's lap," Professor Snape?"_

"_Yes, Miss Delacour?"_

_She had given away two charming pendants, that were still there around her neck. "My grandmother's…but these I could charm…I would like you to have one and give the other to Luna Lovegood. I name you my baby's godfather and Luna, her godmother. Harry Potter should keep her away, far far, away from the Alpha…keep…her safe… her mate has already born… take them away…. they are your last hope…"_

_The mother had died, still holding the wailing child tiny fist._

Contrary to his nature, Severus had wished that the Aurors would have appeared a little late. That Draco would not have alerted them so early. He wanted to hold on to the child a little longer. Just a couple of moments more. It had torn his heart into pieces simply to watch the mother die and then to hand over the child to Lupin. He had remembered the way Kangaroos carry their kids, how the women in the muggle world often wrapped their babies on their back, while they were busy with their daily work.

With the steady flicks of his wand, he had made a similar carrier for Lupin, adding several protection wards to the sack that crisscrossed over the werewolf's chest. When the Baby was packed up, the DADA professor had flinched but had nodded back to Severus, mumbling, "Go, you got work to do, before letting them catch you.

That was the last time, he had seen him alive.

He had gone back to Poppy to get help with the items which he would need for the baby, he was certain they got to hide. Before they had gone out to raid Greyback's Lair, Andromeda had mentioned him about the Grimm Folklore and he knew there were stranger things in this magical world, still hidden, still unknown to the rest of them. It the folklore had any credibility, then that was the only means to save those babies. Greyback would want the girl and he would also want teddy to be a part of his pack.

He was glad Luna Lovegood was the godmother, those children were surrounded by powerful witches and a wizard who had defeated the Dark Lord himself. Even with her eccentricities, Lovegood would find faith in old magic, in prophecies. It would come easily to her, then perhaps to Ginny Weasley. It was a good match. Perhaps the ancient prophecy was going to come true…

He had not attended the ceremony instead he had been busy, packing supplies for Andromeda, Harry and Luna. Miss Granger had been quite intuitive to suggest many other items. Back then, he never realized she would be selected as his wife. Were they truly that compatible? Staring back at the door, he had wondered what would his mother have said to him getting a wife, would she have been overjoyed like Molly Weasley? Perhaps, perhaps not. Like him, his mother had been a quiet woman.

Once again, Hermione's blushing face had appeared in front of his eyes. Was it the binding spell? Severus had wished it was not. As a spy, he had hidden under one disguise or another. Now he wanted a clean slate. At least someone in this world would know who he really is? At least he could have his wife to learn every little nuance of him? But would she ever want to?

* * *

A/N: The Grimm Folklore would get thoroughly discussed in the future chapters of Thunder & Trance" and of course, in this fic too! But please keep in mind, I will adapt the real Grimm brother's tales to suit my story, and it will be completely fictional.


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